


The Long Con

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 17:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15491148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It seems like Arthur needs a little push, so Eames creates one.





	The Long Con

**Author's Note:**

> _Her dedication and her hard work inspired and encouraged lots of people – here’s to QueenThayet, and congratulations, darling, we’re so proud of you!_

“Rumor has it, Eames is getting married,” Cobb says. International calls quality is shit these days, but he’s sure of what he’s hearing.

“I’m sorry, what?” he says anyway.

“Well, not so much of a rumor… I’ve got an invitation,” Cobb clarifies hastily – as if it really clarifies anything. “Arthur? You there?”

 

~~~

 

 “I’m sure it’s just another long con. Maybe he’s marrying some Japanese princess to dupe their government out of millions of dollars’ worth of art. Or maybe it’s, you know, a daughter of some Mombasa’s drug lord,” he says to Ariadne. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

“The wedding’s in London, Arthur,” she says, looking at him as if he’s suddenly developed a terminal illness. “I’ve got an invitation, yesterday…”

Suddenly another nameless Paris warehouse, empty and echoing, feels suffocating.

Suddenly Arthur hates Paris, filled with so many memories, with great vigor.

 

~~~

_“Call me if you need me,” Eames told him at LAX almost half a year ago, and it meant more than just ‘call me’, and they both knew it._

_He never did._

_He figured he still had some time. Some time to figure out what he really wants. Turns out he knew it all along. Turns out he ran out of time._

 

Days pass, then weeks. He doesn’t get in invitation; he doesn’t get a fucking **_word_** from Eames, and it pisses him off even more than Ariadne’s worried glances or Cobb’s late night calls.

Actually, no – it’s Cobb’s late night calls that piss him off the most, so he quickly makes a habit of answering yet another late night call with short, efficient and all-encompassing

“Fuck you.”

“Now that’s a bit rude, darling, don’t you think?”

Eames.

It’s Eames, and Arthur curses himself for not bothering to check the caller ID before picking up.

“What do you want?”

“Well, I have a favour to ask of, actually… Will you do me the honor of being my best man?”

… Should’ve checked that caller ID after all.

Should’ve changed the number long ago.

Should’ve stop fucking thinking about all the ‘darlings’ and all the fleeting smiles and all the tiny details he’s been trained to notice, couldn’t help but notice…

Shit.

“I’m on a job,” he says out loud.

“Well, that’s certainly not a ‘no’. McLaren job, yeah? Won’t take more than a few days with you lot.       Meet me at The Mayflower in London, 2 pm, a week from now.”

…. and Eames sounds… so familiar. As usual. As always. Like nothing happened. Like all of this is completely normal to him.

Well, maybe it is. Maybe all **_this_** was just a figment of Arthur’s own imagination. An elaborate illusion, created out of seeing what he wanted to see.

No, fuck that.

He isn’t going to ruin that wedding, of course. But he deserves some closure. He deserves to know what the fuck was all that about, in the end.

 

~~~

 

Arthur hates being a sad cliché, but there he is – standing in front of The Mayflower, soaking wet under pouring rain ( _of course there’s fucking rain – just to make him look even more pathetic than he already feels_ ).

Stepping inside, Arthur forgets the mere inconvenience of rain-drenched clothes almost immediately though – the whole place is dark and quiet, not a single person in sight, and that just can’t be fucking good. Tensing up, Arthur pulls out his Glock ( _call him paranoid, but sometimes even wedding planning calls for a weapon – case in point_ ), and right then –

“Now, before you start shooting, darling,” Eames says somewhere behind him, “let me explain.”

“You see, something occurred to me during that clusterfuck of a job Cobb dragged all us into… I can live without you. I really do.”

“That’s really fucking nice to hear,” Arthur says, turning to face Eames, who continues, completely unfazed – “The thing is, I don’t want to.”

“I want to be with you. And I know you want this too, and I know you know this, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“And the wedding?...”

“Just something to give you a little push.”

The whole thing is so fucking surreal Arthur has to suppress the sudden urge to check his totem; he knows this is reality, though, can tell how he got here, can trace back the whole fucking day if needed, cause he’s having an exceptionally shitty, abso-fucking-lutely bad day.

And this is the last fucking straw.

“So this is it, huh? _This_ is your grand fucking speech? _This_ is your fucking _move_? And now what, what, do you expect me to be ecstatic and head over heels in love with you, a sociopathic, lying, manipulating son of a…”  

…words are falling out of his mouth almost against his will now, but he’s just so. Fucking. Angry, and then Eames’s right there, right in his face, taking him in his arms and all but melting into him,

and Arthur finally, finally stops talking.


End file.
